Salt Water
by tears-of-a-different-shade
Summary: Lord of the Flies alternative ending. Jack gets what's coming to him and Ralph deals with the aftermath. Rated T. Violence. Character death. Read and Review, please and thank you!


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Flies or any of its characters. However, I do get to control their fate temporarily (it makes me feel so powerful)...

**Warning: **Just placing this here because there is some violence. Nothing that's any worse than what's in the original novel.

**A/N: **So, I know that I should be updating 'Below the Surface', but I went away on vacation a few weeks ago and I've been playing catch-up ever since. School has just been hectic and I've had project after project. One such project was to do a creative assignment on Lord of the Flies. Seeing that an alternative ending was one of the options, I, of course, jumped at the chance. My teacher said she loved it and gave me a 100 on the project. I didn't think it was very good though so I thought I'd put it on here and get some other people's opinions on it. Needless to say, reviews are very much appreciated. Even criticism would be wonderful. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy.

**Dedication: **For Tasha who hated the original ending more than I did. Sorry I couldn't save Piggy for you, but I don't think he would have fared too well during the man-hunt. Love ya' girl, hope you had a good time in Europe!

**Lord of the Flies – Creative Assignment:**

**Alternative Ending**

The following alternative ending takes place directly after the original ending of the book:

The officer, surrounded by these noises, was moved and a little embarrassed. He turned away to give them time to pull themselves together: and waited, allowing his eyes to rest on the trim cruiser in the distance.

Ralph's eyes fluttered open as he was awoken by the acrid smell of smoke. He felt his heart, once light with childish hopes and dreams, now weighed down with fear and bitter disappointment, sink into the pit of his stomach. That dream had seemed so real - so wonderfully, terribly real. It was somehow worse than nightmares of falling, death, and beasts. At least he felt some relief upon waking from those dreams. Now, he could only feel a defeat so consuming that he wished he'd never woken up. He'd never felt more like giving up than he did now. It was so tempting to just close his eyes and never open them again. He was sure Jack and his tribe would take care of that.

It was the thought of Jack that finally convinced Ralph to lift himself into a sitting position. He didn't come all this way, last this long, just to be slaughtered by that…that –

Beast.

Yes, that word fit perfectly. There was a beast on this island…and Ralph had underestimated him from day one.

Ralph sat there, letting his senses take in all they could. The heat of the fire, not near enough to be truly dangerous, not far enough way for him to be truly safe. He could smell the scent of smoke. What was once comforting, carrying the promise of rescue, was now terrifying. Peering through the foliage that hid him from the savages, he could make out spreading orange flames here and there, closing in on him. The urge to flee, to give in to panic, was almost unbearable, but still he sat. Finally, an opportunity presented itself.

He sprung from his cover, leaping out in the direction from which he'd heard the snapping twig. The lone savage was quickly disarmed and knocked out. Ralph knew that if there had been more than one, his attack likely would not have gone so well, but luck had been on his side, as well as the element of surprise and his own strength. Now, he had something else. The savage's spear.

Who had that boy once been? Robert? Bill? Harold? Sam or Eric? Ralph realized with great sadness that he could no longer tell.

Stealthily, Ralph moved through the trees, careful that his steps didn't make a sound. He knew how good a hunter Jack was…and he knew that he needed to be better. It was down to survival now; he didn't have the luxury of waiting to be rescued. He either took the island back or he died.

Ralph knew that any hesitation on his part would mean the end. He allowed himself only the most basic, the most _primal _feelings. His rational thought was clouded as a strange wave of euphoria washed over him. This is what they felt when they hunted, he knew. But, even through the bloodlust, a small part of him still whispered against what he planned.

_Would you really sink so low? Would you really kill a human being?_

_They're not human. Not anymore,_ Ralph defended, trying to soothe his doubts,_ Just look at 'em. They're worse than wild animals! No sane person behaves that way. They're not human!_

_What makes you so sure that you are?_

Ralph shivered slightly at the calm rationality of the voice before it finally fell silent. Had he been given the time, Ralph might have sought an alternative to his plan. He might have realized how much it went against the very morals he had fought to hold on to. However, his thoughts were interrupted by nearby voices.

"Any sign of him?" Ralph tensed as he recognized Jack's voice.

"No."

"Well, keep looking," Jack said, "He can't hide forever. The fire will drive him out if nothing else."

Civilized thoughts of morals and humanity left Ralph completely as he readied himself. That isn't to say that he didn't think at all – quite the contrary. Ralph's mind was busy forming a detailed picture of his plan. The only difference was, these thoughts weren't organized and in the form of words as he was used to. Instead, they consisted of images and simple, yet powerful, feelings. His mind worked in only the most basic way, unable to second-guess or rationalize, only concerned with his own survival. Ralph became as much a savage as any other boy on the island.

With a primal yell, he burst from his hiding place for the second time that morning. He heard a cry of protest as he shoved a smaller savage out of his way, making a mad run for the beach. For a few moments, the other boys did not pursue him, so shocked were they from his sudden appearance.

"What are you lot standing around for?" Jack screamed, "Get him!"

Ralph heard the sounds of what seemed to be countless feet thundering through the forest behind him, unmindful of the creepers they trampled along the way. Battle cries were ripped from the throats of boys who seemed too small to make them. Eventually, the inarticulate screaming evolved into a dreadfully familiar chant.

"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Bash him in!"

Among these voices, he could clearly hear Jack. Had he turned around, Ralph would have seen Jack leading the group, an insane expression of glee on his young face. His mouth was stretched unnaturally wide in a smile that promised nothing but suffering. However, Ralph dared not look behind him for fear of tripping over some unseen tree root.

Finally, the young boy broke through the tree line, his bare feet sinking into the soft, white sand of the familiar beach. A few more feet and Ralph would be up to his knees in ocean. He stopped, whirling around to face his attackers.

Seeing his prey come to a stop, Jack ran all the faster, shouting taunts full of sadistic joy, "Nowhere to go now, huh, beastie? Nowhere to hide? This is my island! You never stood a chance!"

Jack continued to run forward, leaving the protection of his tribe behind him, oblivious of the danger he was in until it was too late. The pointed end of Ralph's stick met tender flesh, tearing it to make the first bloodshed of the day. Jack let out a scream of agony as he sunk to the ground, clutching his wounded stomach.

"Oh," Jack moaned, "Oh, you'll pay, you beast!"

Ralph ignored him completely. "Kill the beast," he muttered, stabbing at Jack again and earning another scream, "Kill the beast, cut his throat, bash him in."

The savages emerged from the forest in a mad frenzy, sighting the spilled blood immediately. Caught up in the fervor and intoxication of the hunt, they did not notice (or, perhaps, did not care) that it was their leader kneeling wounded on the ground. All that they saw was the blood.

"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Bash him in!" they cried as they converged on their fallen leader, "Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Bash him in!"

The savages formed a circle, spears stabbing endlessly at the center. They no longer heard the screams or the pleading or even the commands, all they knew was that their prey was wounded and vulnerable. It wasn't long before Jack ceased to make any sounds at all. Soon after, the circle broke apart.

Lying motionless on the bloodstained sand was the boy who had once been Jack Merridew. No longer did he look like a vicious savage, oh no. In the stillness of death, it was far too easy to see beyond his painted face, far too easy to see the little boy that he had once been. Jack lay prone on the beach; the shape of his ribs could clearly be seen through his bloodied chest, his eyes – though glassy – were wide in obvious fear. In death, Jack looked like a little boy who had suffered far more than anyone should have to, only to be brutally murdered for no reason. And Ralph would be damned if that wasn't close enough to the truth.

Damned anyway, aren't I?

Jack wasn't the only one who seemed to have been reverted back to the way he had been. Nameless faces looked around uncertainly, fear and confusion reflected in each pair of eyes. Never had Ralph seen anyone look so lost and alone as these boys did. Without orders to guide them, they knew not what to do. Without the constant distraction of the hunt, the immense weight of all that had happened since the crash threatened to descend on their already fragile shoulders.

Ralph's knees felt weak. He wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground. To cry, to scream…to turn away from to horrid sight in front of him and heave until his stomach lay on the sand next to his feet. Instead, he stood straighter, his eyes hardened so no emotion was shown, and his mind became an impenetrable fortress. Calmly, he walked forward, taking careful, even steps. He stooped down, snatching the remains of Piggy's glasses from Jack's belt and refusing to reveal the repulsion he felt at the act. Carefully, he hung them from his own waistband.

The other boys looked up to him respectfully. In Jack's death, Ralph ruled once again. Ralph was chief.

What I mean is…maybe it's only us.

Ralph hadn't known what Simon had been talking about then, but he certainly did now. God help him did he know now.

* * *

The last light of the pastel coloured sunset had seeped from the sky as day gave way to night. The sky was now an inky black, reflected in the ocean, creating the illusion of an endless dark void that mirrored one boy's thoughts of man's heart. 

Ralph sat on the soft sand, watching the black vastness stretching before him. It had been hours since Jack's death. Or had it been days? Months? Years? It didn't matter. Time was a creation of civilization – something that did not exist on this island.

The fire had burned much of the island; Ralph wondered how long they'd be able to live off what was left. He sighed sadly, that didn't matter either. There was nothing that could be done now.

A few things from Ralph's first reign as chief had been kept. The signal fire was one, although Ralph could no longer remember why. It was more of a force of habit than anything else. A ritual, like Jack's dance, to distract the boys and drive away fear. Just sitting by it gave Ralph some comfort, some feeling of hope.

A few things from Jack's reign had also been kept. Like the painted faces. The boys found comfort in being able to hide themselves with their painted masks. While their identity was hidden from the world, it was that much easier to pretend they were somebody else…Ralph could pretend to be somebody else – someone other than a once civilized boy who was now guilty of murder.

Many times, Ralph had felt like giving in, just letting the sea swallow him up as it had Simon…and Piggy…and finally Jack. Everything that he had been through would have been overwhelming for even the bravest of men – it was a heavy burden on his young heart. Yet, he refused to cry. He refused to let even a single tear fall. He refused to let go of his last human emotion, even now. It didn't matter that all he could feel was this deep aching sorrow. What did matter was that he still _could_ feel.

Sighing, Ralph lay down on the sand, beneath the endlessly dark sky, and slept. In the silence of night, unbeknownst to him, a single tear slipped through the cage of lashes that had held it back for so long. Beautiful in its infinite, unknowable sadness, yet, insignificant in the world's indifference. Just another drop of salt water on an island surrounded by it.

**The End.**


End file.
